“At your command, Monsieur.”
Mazzarin and Zola were sitting together on the starboard side. Armand nodded and together they rolled backwards over the side and into the water.
* * * Chapman kept close to the seabed as he swam towards a large rising rock formation. Dillon followed, but with increasing difficulty against the strength of the current that followed a deep channel, leading through to the other side of the rocks. The force was quite tremendous; Chapman was wriggling himself under an enormous flat rock and pulling himself through the opening with gloved hands. Dillon went after him, reaching for one handhold after another and having to continuously fight the flow of the current. In the gloom, he could see Chapman’s fins just four or five feet in front of him.
After three to four minutes of scrabbling along on his belly, Dillon glanced down at his dive computer. It showed the depth to be at eighty feet, a rise of fifteen feet from where they had first entered the narrow opening.
Chapman was motionless for a while, and then with a lot of effort, hauled himself over a ledge and through to the other side. Dillon did the same, fighting the immense current as he went, and was through and into the most amazingly colourful place.
As Dillon came through the opening he turned, and looking up through the crystal clear water, could see sunlight glinting off the surface some eighty feet above him. The spectacle was breath taking and as he surged forward, he found himself in amongst a school of big black bream, and above them five or more mixed rays including large blondes weighing up to fifteen kilos or more.
Chapman plunged down the sheer wall of granite that fell away below, and Dillon followed him. He was aware of the current as he closed in on Chapman, and turning saw Mazzarin and Zola trying to come through the narrow opening and over the ledge. Zola almost made it, but lost his grip and was pushed back into Mazzarin, disappearing a moment later back into the tunnel.
Chapman moved on and Dillon followed, down to ninety-five feet, where the fierce current swept and bounced them along the smooth face of the rock and through a series of wide fissures. Dillon was having the time of his life, and had never felt so excited. They seemed to be dragged along forever and then the current slackened and Chapman was using his fins now and climbing steadily through the black glass like water.
Dillon followed through a deep ravine that seemed to go on and on, checked his computer and was surprised to find that they’d been down for twenty minutes. They moved away from the rock face, staying just above the forest of the seabed and came to an anchor line. Chapman looked up and gave the thumbs down sign, before moving on another forty metres to the right, and finally arriving at the Wave Dancer’s anchor line. They went up slowly, leaving the line at twenty feet and swimming under the keel to the other side of the boat to surface at the stern.
Chapman reached down to take Dillon’s tank; he’d already got a foot on the narrow ladder, and was pulling himself up and over onto the dive platform. Dillon stood up, still feeling exhilarated and completely relaxed from the dive as he unzipped his wetsuit and pulled it off. Chapman busied around, stowing the air tanks, and generally clearing the deck of any loose equipment.
“Amazing dive Rob, thoroughly enjoyed it.” Chapman smiled, “Not bad is it? That one, always delivers.”
He turned and looked across the bay at the inflatable rib. It was still anchored over on the starboard side, bobbing around on its anchor chain in the heavy swell.
“I wonder if those two divers ever did get through the tunnel to the other side?” Dillon said.
“I very much doubt it, that opening takes some negotiating as you found out. And, they wouldn’t have expected that fierce current down there either.” The inflatable swung round exposing the stern. “Well look at that, they’re from that Frenchman’s boat the Solitaire,” Chapman added.
“Is that so?”
Dillon finished towelling himself dry and stood at the rail looking through a pair of binoculars. He immediately recognised Kurt, standing in the stern with Pierre, and then Malakoff stood up.
“Who’s the chap with the silver hair and blue blazer?” Dillon asked.
Chapman took the binoculars. “I’m pretty sure that’s Hugo Malakoff, the French billionaire. I’ve seen him once or twice at the marina in St. Helier.”
Malakoff stared back at them across the choppy water, a moment later Mazzarin and Zola surfaced by the anchor chain.
“We’d better get going, if we’re to make it back to Bonne Nuit before this weather closes in,” Chapman said as he engaged the anchor winch and started the engine. Chapman pushed the throttle forward and the Wave Dancer’s propeller bit into the foaming water. He made a wide arc around the Solitaire’s inflatable, and as they passed, Malakoff held up his arm and waved at them.
“Cheeky bastard.” Dillon muttered, and then said, “Is that the Solitaire up ahead?”
“Looks like it,” Chapman said over his shoulder.
“I’d like to take a closer look at her, if you don’t mind?”
“Why not, after all you’re paying for the fuel.”
Dillon remained sitting on one of the cushioned bench seats situated in the stern of the boat, drinking a coffee from the thermos flask. Chapman looked straight ahead as the Wave Dancer raced through the water.
“You’re as you said, Jake. An experienced diver.”
“I’ve been diving since I was a teenager.” Dillon said.
They were close to where the Solitaire was at anchor; Chapman throttled back the engine allowing the Wave Dancer to pass slowly by the sleek white power cruiser on her port side. Dillon peered through the binoculars in an attempt to pick out anything extraordinary about the craft, and as they reached the stern Chapman swept around in a wide arc, and then back along the starboard side to the bow.
Captain Armand was standing on the upper deck looking down at the small craft circling around his vessel, binoculars in one hand, and a two-way radio in the other.
“Seen enough, or do you want me to take her around for another look?”
“No, let’s get going before Malakoff returns. I’ve seen enough, thank you.” Dillon said.
“Okay.” Chapman pushed the throttle to full power and the Wave Dancer raced on towards Bonne Nuit Bay. Dillon leaned against the bulkhead of the wheelhouse.
“Do you get many interesting wrecks on the northern side of the island?”
“There are a few,” Chapman said. “Mostly merchant ships, and of course there are many fishing boats that have run onto the rocks.”
“I’m sure there are. But, I was thinking of something a little more interesting, say military?” Dillon said. “After all, Annabelle did mention that you know these waters like no other diver.”
Chapman remained impassive, allowing Dillon to continue, “For instance, would it be possible for there to be a wreck on the northern coast that you’d never come across. Say, if it were concealed somewhere?”
Chapman throttled back and slowly entered the bay. “On the northern coast, you say. Well anything is possible, Jake.”
“So you’re saying that there’s a possibility of finding an uncharted wreck?”
The Wave Dancer came alongside the seawall. Dillon took the stern line, jumped down onto the wet concrete ledge, and tied up. He did the same at the bow as Chapman gave a quick reverse thrust to steady the boat, and then cut the engine. Dillon jumped back on board and started to collect up his diving gear.
Chapman came down from the wheelhouse deep in thought.
“Anything wrong?” Dillon inquired casually.
“Well perhaps you can tell me, Jake? You see there’s something not quite right here. I don’t know what it is you’ve come to Jersey for - and quite frankly - I’m not interested. All I know is that you’re a well-trained diver who doesn’t mind taking risks. Now, I’ve not got a problem with that. But when someone starts on about uncharted wrecks, it usually means trouble, if you know what I mean? And all that stuff back there about wanting to take a c
loser look at the Solitaire?”
“What about it?” Dillon said, continuing to put his equipment into the large canvas kit bag.
“It could be bad for your health. By all accounts Malakoff is not only one of the richest men in France, but he’s also evil with it. And as for his bodyguard, well he’s nothing more than a psychopath, who literally gets away with murder. There are plenty of people on this island who could tell you the same about the big German. But what the hell, I’m sure you already know this?”
“I’ve not got the faintest idea what you’re talking about Rob, but I’ll certainly keep your advice in mind about Malakoff, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I’ve got to be going I’m working over at the war tunnels this afternoon. Would you like to dive with me again?”
“That would be great, Rob.” Dillon went up the steps, got to the top and paused, “Perhaps my friend Vince and I could buy you a drink this evening. Will you be at Annabelle’s place?”
“I’m there every night, Jake,” Chapman said, “otherwise I’d starve.”
“That’s settled then, I’ll see you later.” Dillon said, turned and walked along the top of the sea wall towards the road.
* * *
When he arrived back at the Fisherman’s Lodge, Dillon found Vince sitting in the small living room with a Sony Vaio on his lap and a printer on the table that was spewing out paper, one sheet after another. He’d connected via the Internet to the local record’s archive, and was downloading everything he could find out about old Malakoff’s company.
After telling Vince about his dive with Chapman, Dillon went through to the kitchen and made himself a black coffee, which he took out into the garden. As he walked across the lawn to the cliff edge, he lifted the collar of his jacket against the wind. The grey sky above looked thunderous and foreboding, a storm was definitely brewing, he thought, and then turned his attention towards Gifford Bay, where the Solitaire was once again at anchor. He stood there thinking about the way things had gone since he’d arrived in Jersey. About the beating he’d been given by Kurt and his mate, Hugo Malakoff and the Solitaire.
He’d known about Malakoff, but how did Malakoff know about him, that was the question still unanswered. Dillon had been aware of some sort of strange connection with the Frenchman taking place back in Saie Harbour. Malakoff had looked straight at him through his binoculars, and had caught Dillon peering back through his own. He’d actually lifted his arm and waved back as if he were just like any other friendly seafarer. Chapman he really liked. In fact, everything he’d learnt so far about the archaeologist he liked, and he certainly knew how to dive. The part that he wasn’t able to gauge, was how far Chapman could be pushed before he showed the real man behind the quiet intelligent mask.
It started to rain, sending Dillon back inside. He went straight to a cupboard in his bedroom and took one of the canvas kit bags out. This one was black and much bigger than the rest that he’d brought along, and was one of those that can be opened up in two complete halves. Dillon pulled the zip from one end to the other in one swift action, and threw one of the sides over to reveal its contents.
There were knives of varying length, handguns with and without silencers; including the Glock 20 automatic, a particular favourite of Dillons. Two Heckler & Koch MP5 carbines, a weapon favoured by the SAS, and a sawn off shotgun. Dillon knew he could take apart and reassemble any of these weapons with a blindfold on, and was as proficient and accurate as any professional marksman. He unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a cheap looking imitation leather holster with the butt of a pistol sticking out of it, Dillon’s ace in the hole. The .22 calibre gun was small and light, and accurate at short range. The holster had a magnetic strip running along the back, allowing it to be stuck to the underside of anything, and as long as it was metal it would stay in place.
Dillon unzipped another pocket, and pulled out a long flat oblong container full of Semtex, along with another much smaller box that held the underwater detonators. LJ had relented, allowing Dillon to have the explosive, just in case he had to blast his way into the tunnel. After he’d inspected the weapons, and was satisfied that everything was working as it should be. He zipped the bag up and put it back in the cupboard.
He went back into the small living room, Vince was still sitting in front of his Sony Vaio.
“Found anything interesting?” Dillon asked.
“No, nothing out of the ordinary, but I’m really only scratching the surface at present, most of this stuff is the same as Guy Roberts came up with. But, I’m going to carry on with it, because there’s one thing that’s a bit odd.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, there appears to have been some changes made to the information held on these digital files.”
“How do you know it’s been changed?”
“There are certain words that are too modern, and some of the phrases used, well to be honest Jake, the syntax for the time is all wrong.”
“And?”
“Well, I think that if I dig around under the surface, I’ll find that something has been taken out of a number of documents, and it’s more than likely that it’s a name of a person or persons, and that this has been done to protect somebody now. Of course that’s only speculation on my part, you understand?”
“I understand, but keep with it Vince, you never know it may prove to be a link to the U-boat.”
A taxi pulled up in the drive of the Fisherman’s Lodge, a single passenger inside. The driver got out and lifted the tailgate to the estate car, and pulled out a solid heavy looking black suitcase. He opened the rear door, a tall willowy man in his late fifties got out and stood for a moment looking at the single storey building. He paid and tipped the driver, walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The dark pin-stripe suit was immaculate, as was the crisp white shirt and blue silk tie that had small red cricket balls running diagonally across it. The door opened, and Dillon’s mouth nearly dropped open.
“Thought I’d come down and give you a bit of a hand, old son,” Edward Levenson-Jones said. “Well don’t just stand there gawping, go and fetch my suitcase.” LJ said as he brushed passed Dillon, “Now where’s the fridge, I’m bloody well dying for a large gin and tonic.”
Chapter Ten
Dillon took a shower, and changed into a pair of stone washed denim jeans and a short-sleeved blue cotton check shirt. He went out into the garden, late afternoon sunshine and a warm summer breeze coming off the ocean had replaced the rain of earlier. LJ, had discarded his suit for something a little more casual, and was wearing a pair of casual khaki trousers, a white hand-made shirt under a dark blue blazer. And, was standing by the cliff top smoking a cigar, and gazing out across the bay as Dillon walked across the lawn to him.
“Ah, there you are,” he said adjusting his old school tie with one hand, and raising his empty glass with the other, and added. “You’re just in time for a refill, old son.”
“It’s so good to see that you’re not homesick, and that you’ve settled in so quickly. Gin and tonic is it?” Dillon said, taking LJ’s glass.
“Sarcasm, old son, is the lowest form of wit. And, before we go any further. I know you’re upset by my unexpected arrival, and I’ve no doubt you feel that I should have let you know I was coming. But unfortunately, Jake. I couldn’t tell anyone except young Roberts, who is I might add, unofficially keeping an eye on things for me back in London. It’s this damn Frenchman, Malakoff, you see. Every time we go to do something he’s there, one step ahead of us all the time.”
“Any ideas about who it is leaking information to him?”
“I’ve got a few irons in the fire, but as yet, absolutely nothing to link him to anyone involved with this assignment.”
Dillon walked back into the kitchen, poured two large gin and tonics and then went back out to LJ who was by now sitting in one of the old wicker easy chairs on the lawn.
“That large white power cruiser over in the next bay is the So
litaire.” Dillon said, passing a glass tumbler to his boss.
“I thought as much, and in keeping with the ego of the man who owns it, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, I suppose it is. But that’s no ordinary boat, you know?”
“What do mean?”
“While I was out diving with Chapman this morning, we passed her at anchor on our way back to Bonne Nuit. So I took the opportunity of having a closer look.”
“And what makes you think it’s been modified?”
“Well, the hull has almost certainly undergone a vast amount of modification. I had Vince look up the manufacturer website for the specification, and that boat has been adapted for high speed. The same goes for the deck areas. Although, the changes are much subtler, and are only minor in comparison to the hull. But when you look a little closer, you can spot them. That is most definitely not your run of the mill, gas guzzling, multi-million pound, ocean-going cruiser out there.”
“Are you sure about this, old son?” Dillon passed him the high powered binoculars, and LJ took a look. “I see what you mean about the hull, much sleeker than you’d expect on a craft of that size. Looks harmless enough, and that’s the impression it’s supposed to give, I’d say.”
“So it would seem, and I’ve got no doubt that she’s packing some heavyweight electronics on board, as well.”
LJ continued to look through the binoculars. “When I was just a young whipper snapper at MI5, I was assigned to a case that I’ve never forgotten, and probably never will. It was a particularly nasty hostage situation. In fact, by the time I’d arrived, two of the six hostages had already been executed. I can still see their blood soaked bodies now. After being shot through the head, the bodies had been callously thrown out of a first storey window onto the concrete below. I can vividly remember how the terrorists would watch us from behind steel shutters, while we watched them. It was just a game really, a particularly nasty game which would explode into violence every so often. Until that is, the SAS found a way in, and ended the siege with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. Forgive me for prattling on, but I have the feeling that Malakoff is watching us, and that he knows we’re watching him.”
Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 23
